


Gunslingers and Outlaws

by MadhouseVagabond



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Cowboys, Gen, Gunslingers, Los Santos, Outlaws, Tags will be updated, Violence, Wild West, it's FAHC but cowboy style, rimmy tim, saloon brawls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadhouseVagabond/pseuds/MadhouseVagabond
Summary: All Jeremy wants is a fresh start, a clean slate. Moving to the new and growing city of Los Santos seemed like a great idea. But the Wild West isn't that forgiving.





	Gunslingers and Outlaws

The stagecoach bumped roughly, startling the figure inside awake, a rude wake up call that had him grumbling. He'd been in this rickety old thing for several days now, hitching a ride back in Sacramento. The man yawned and stretched, working the aches and kinks out of his muscles as he gazed out of the window of the cab. He wasn't at all surprised to see that the surrounding landscape was mostly a rocky desert wasteland, the scene having not changed since the day before. He grumbled and muttered something about the slutty desert before leaning back and resting his head against the wooden interior.

The man was the only one in the stagecoach, thank God. He wasn't sure if he could put up with being confined with other people in such a small space for the duration of the trip to Los Santos. Besides, he and the driver got along just fine, hardly exchanging words when they stopped for food, water or to camp for the night. They never pried into the others business and the man wanted to keep it that way.

He yawned again and scratched his short, brown beard, reminding himself for the tenth time to trim it down once they'd reached their destination as he felt some of the scraggly ends. He was a young man, twenty-five to be exact. He was short for his age, only about five feet four inches tall, but had a temper that made him seem much taller and imposing. While he wasn't exactly the most in-shape guy in the world he was quite strong and quick, traits that always surprised those who dared to underestimate him. His brown hair was short on his head and he'd found himself sadly wondering lately if he'd need to shave it all off soon. His chestnut brown eyes, while friendly and playful also carried a fire behind them. He was spirited, not really giving a fuck about anything or anyone, but rather just satisfied in keeping himself alive and well.

This was evidenced in his atrocious wardrobe choice. He wore yellow dress pants, an orange long sleeve button up shirt which was beginning to fade from its bright color to a dull shade, a purple suit jacket which was also aged, and a white cowboy hat which was perched on the seat beside him. He didn't care about the weird looks he got for his outfit, he didn't give a shit what people thought; after all, they were just boring normies. He'd tucked his black fingerless gloves into his jacket pocket earlier and then taken the jacket off to keep from overheating. He was thankful he'd remembered to wear his short sleeved cotton undershirt to help prevent sweat stains on his nicer clothes. His dark brown boots fit him perfectly. His belt was practical, not like those pompous windbags he'd seen with belt buckles the size of the fucking moon, and did the job of keeping his pants up while his gun belt tried to pull them down. The gun belt was a nice dark brown leather, with two holsters at each side for his twin colt revolvers, bullet loops studded along the sides. When he'd special requested the belt he'd also asked the leather worker to create a horizontal sheath in the back for his bone knife he'd been given by one of his old Indian friends, a beautiful blade that had served him well throughout the years and one he wouldn't part with willingly.

He took shit from no one and was always ready to leap into action, but he was also cautious, crafty. He hadn't lived this long being completely impulsive and he wanted to continue breathing for at least a few more years.

This was Jeremy Dooley.

He stuck his head out of the open window to his left and caught the attention of the driver. The man was older, probably in his late forties early fifties, his black beard and hair peppered with white. He had a rough look to him but his eyes sparkled with friendliness, a friendliness Jeremy had instantly picked up on.

"How much longer do you think?" Jeremy asked.

"We should get there before the sun sets young 'un. A couple hours," the man replied with a small smile. Jeremy thanked him and returned to his seat, trying to make the time fly by quicker.

He picked up the book he'd been reading and found his place, scanning the words until even that became too dull for him. He sighed and looked out the window again, watching the landscape fly by. The desert was slowly changing into grassy hills and woods, a welcome change from the sand, rocks and dirt he'd been seeing the last few days. He swore if he ever saw another cactus it would be too soon.

His thoughts drifted to his time in Sacramento, and Dodge before that. He remembered friends and family he'd left behind, jobs he'd loved and hated. Everything always changed, and something always happened to cause him to move, to run. He wasn't a bad person he told himself, and he wasn't; bad things just happened to him, and those around him.

Jeremy closed his eyes and remembered.

_There was the loud report of a gun going off, screams filling the air, blood everywhere. A feeling of panic, fear. Adrenaline pumping through his veins and the sounds of horse hooves beating the ground in urgency. Tears stung his eyes as he rode, refusing to look back. He'd been set up, his target had been waiting for him, ready to get the jump on him. He'd been suspicious coming into this, but he'd ignored his instincts like a dumbass, and now he was on the run._

_The sounds of pursuit reached his ears and he grit his teeth, urging his horse forward, keeping low on its back as the sounds of gunfire filled his ears. He felt the bullets zip past him, so close he could swear he felt the wind. He searched ahead for anything that could help him. There was a gorge up ahead and fear gripped him. He knew how deep the gorge was, knew how dangerous it would be. Jeremy swore and urged his horse forward, hoping it had enough sense not to come to a complete halt and throw him into the chasm. Nearer and nearer they got to the gorge, Jeremy glancing back as if begging for a chance to turn back. He could see the edge now, and he asked whatever deity was out there to not fuck him over just this once._

Jeremy jolted awake, apparently dozing off as his mind had wondered. The sun looked like it was beginning its slow descent, the time being around six thirty he guessed. If the driver was correct, he'd be arriving in Los Santos for supper. Sure enough, if he looked out the window and squinted hard at the horizon, he could make out the shapes of buildings. A sense of excitement and nervousness filled him at the thought of the city.

He'd heard of Los Santos several times in his travels, good things and bad. A young city that was still trying to get a decent foothold in the world most of its citizens were like Jeremy, looking for a fresh start, while many others fit into the category Jeremy would call 'unsavory'. Many an outlaw terrorized the young city, holding up the banks, robbing the civilians, hijacking trains and stagecoaches, and other mischievous acts. Another group of shady characters that lived in the city or the surrounding area were gunslingers.

Gunslingers, to Jeremy's knowledge, were basically freelance bounty hunters. They seemed to be on the side of law, but did what they wanted and didn't hesitate to turn their guns on those who pissed them off. Jeremy had always admired gunslingers, their free lifestyle appealed to him.

Thirty minutes later the stagecoach pulled to a stop outside the general store, the driver leaping down from his seat to open the door for Jeremy before heading to the back to climb up top and hand down luggage and parcels. Jeremy, being all too willing to help carried supplies into the store and placed them where he was directed to. After retrieving his bag and jacket from the coach and thanking the driver, he took a deep breath and looked out at the small city.

There was so much he needed to do. He had to pick up the deed to his new home, buy a horse and supplies, get an account set up at the bank, and find a job. Jeremy walked as he made this mental checklist, deciding to leave to majority of it for the next day. First he'd pick up the deed, then he'd find a cheap inn to stay at and the closest saloon to buy a few celebratory drinks. The deed was easy, the teller at the bank only asking for proof of identification and purchase. The inn was also surprisingly easy to find, there only being two in the whole city. When his door was shut Jeremy heaved a sigh and collapsed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, a smile creeping onto his face.

This was it! A fresh start. He opted for a quick bath before heading out to diner, making sure any of his valuables were well hidden and his room secure. He ordered a nice simple meal of beans and bread, washed down with the freshest water he'd ever tasted. With his belly full he walked to the nearby saloon for a couple drinks. The place wasn't too chaotic, a few drunken brawls that were soon taken outside, shouting and laughing, piano music and the occasional playful or happy scream. All in all, the typical saloon sounds.

Jeremy politely asked for a whiskey and gazed around while he waited. There were several men sitting at tables, some talking while others played poker. Saloon girls walked around carrying platters laden with food or beakers. The bar tender returned with his beverage and as always Jeremy sniffed the drink first. He had an uncanny sense of smell when it came to his alcohol, and could always tell whether or not something had been added, his nose saving him on many occasions. The drink was good, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head from how good it was to have alcohol again.

As he drank an uneasy feeling that he was being watched filled him. He glanced up at the bar, hoping to find some sort of reflective surface to look at and see what was causing his unease. The backdrop of the bar where all the bottles were was just what he needed and as he took another drink he scanned the room. Finally he spotted the dark figure in the corner. The area was poorly lit, but he could see the shape of a man there, the feeling of unease increasing at the sight of him. Jeremy scanned the room again just to be sure he was correct.

He was.

Unsure of what to do exactly, he was beginning to plot a way of escape when a loud commotion from one of the tables caught his attention. Several men who were playing poker were getting into a heated debate, one in particular who's hands were covered in tattoos and had a ridiculous handle bar mustache was shouting obscenities at the others.

"Dammit Gavin you little fuck! If I get my hands on you I'll punch that stupid long-ass nose of yours so hard it'll look normal!"

Jeremy glanced back and saw that the dark figure had leaned forward a little into the light, his elbows on the table, hands supporting and cupping his scruffy chin. The upper half of his face was concealed by shadow still, but Jeremy could tell by his muscular arms that he was strong. The tattooed man's yells were followed by sounds that resembled a bird squawking followed by a scramble and more yelling, Jeremy glancing back to see that a smaller man a year or two older than him maybe had dove at the money pit and was now making a beeline for the door, the tattooed man rising to his feet and raising a pistol to level at the kid's back.

Jeremy's eyes widened. He was about to watch someone get murdered on his first day in a new city! Time seemed to slow as he tried to think of something to do, a way to help the kid or at least level the playing field. He couldn't just stand there and do nothing. Without really thinking it through he glanced to his left and noticed a man standing there watching the scene unfold. Reacting quickly, Jeremy grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, spun them both so Jeremy's back was to the counter and slugged the man right in the face, sending him backwards into the table where the tattooed man was standing at. The result was instantaneous, the whole saloon breaking out into a brawl, chaos everywhere.

Jeremy tuned to the bar tender and laid down a few dollars to pay for the drink and trouble before he quickly slipped out of the saloon. The feeling of unease soon fell away and after making a very roundabout way back to his inn he was soon safe and alone in his room.

He smiled to himself. If there was one thing he could always count on, it was saloon brawl mentality.

Making sure the window was shut and locked and the curtains drawn, he stripped down to his under garments and slipped into bed, turning out the lamp beside his bed and making sure one of his two revolvers was on the bedside table.

The other he kept under his pillow.

  
Outside a lone figure gazed up at the window of the inn, wondering which exactly the newcomer lay in. He frowned, wondering why the small man had started the brawl in the saloon. Surely it wasn't to save Gavin's dumb ass, was it? Everyone in town knew Geoff would never kill or hurt the kid, Gavin was like a son to him. What did this newcomer gain from protecting Gavin? No one was just "that nice", not in this shithole of a city. Everyone kept their heads down, and minded their own business. It's how you stayed alive in Los Santos.

Shaking his head he turned and walked down the road to the hitching post where his black steed stood, waiting for him and snorting happily at the sight of him. The man smiled and stroked the horse's nose and neck before unhitching him and climbing up into the saddle. He glanced back at the inn, and again found himself puzzling over the young man.

He'd have to do more investigating.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something new I want to play around with. Let me know how you like it and I'll keep it going, if not I'll write enough to make it end quickly.


End file.
